


Visitation

by sphekso



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 21:11:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4364291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sphekso/pseuds/sphekso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years after his capture, Alana receives a visit from a newly escaped Dr. Lecter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visitation

Alana backed away slowly, holding her palms up in surrender, terror splayed across her face. Her heel caught on the rug. She tumbled backwards, cursing as she fell.

“Funny,” Hannibal said as he stepped across her front door’s threshold. “You do tend to take a lot of falls.”

“H…Hannibal,” she gasped. “You should… how did you get out?”

“The details of my escape are unimportant,” he said. “What is important is that I came to see you.”

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, voice quavering.

“Of course not. We’re old friends.” He loomed over her. “I think you should get up now, Alana.”

She staggered to her feet. “And I think you should leave,” she said.

He chuckled. “So soon? I thought we could visit a little, perhaps have a glass of wine. It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen a friendly face.”

“Why me?” she asked, backing up to the kitchen.

“Do you intend to protect yourself with a kitchen knife?” he asked. He tilted his head ever so slightly. “I assure you, you have nothing to fear. I’ve merely missed you. Is that so wrong?”

Her eyes were wild and desperate as she took her first step into the kitchen.

“Alana,” he said in a soothing voice, “you really don’t want to do that.”

She stopped in her tracks. “Why did you come here? Why didn’t you go to Will’s?”

He stayed stony-faced, but his eyes displayed a measure of hurt she’d never seen on him. “Will and I… We’ve grown apart.”

“You tried to kill him,” she said. “You tried to kill me, too.”

“Tut tut.” He took a step toward her, and she matched him to take one step back. “I never attempted to take your life. That was Abigail’s doing.”

“You’re the one who groomed her for it.”

“Perhaps, but it was ultimately her decision. She viewed you as a threat to me. I didn’t instruct her to push you through that window.” He tilted his head a little more. “You really thought that was my intention? For all these years?”

“Even if it wasn’t, it was your intention to kill Jack and Will, so what does it matter?” A loud creaking noise came from further into the house, almost like a door closing. She darted a glance down the hallway.

“What was that?” he asked.

“It’s an old house.” She hoped she sounded convincing.

He seemed satisfied with her explanation. “Alright,” he said. “How have you been, Alana? Six years is a long time not to visit me.”

“Why would I? You’re a monster.”

“Ah, yes. _Il Mostro,_ actually. But you didn’t seem concerned about that the last time I saw you.”

She chewed her lip for a moment while she mulled over what to say. “I was weak back then. I wanted something. After Will found Molly, something in me just… needed a connection.”

“And ‘connect’ we did.”

“Don’t be so smug,” she snapped. “I used you, and you used me. That’s all.”

“If that’s the way you want to see it.” He paused. “Let’s make ourselves more comfortable. Invite me into your den, would you?”

“I think you’ve invited yourself.” She led him into the den, careful not to let him leave her sight. She sat on the couch, and he settled into an overstuffed recliner.

“Much better,” he said. “I must say, you’re quite good at keeping house. Your home is spotless.”

“Thanks,” she said in a measured tone. “Our last visit… is that why you’re here? You want a repeat act?”

“A man has his needs, but no, I am truly only here to see a friend.”

“You know I’m going to tell the police about you.”

He gave a single, determined nod. “I would expect nothing less.”

“You’ll be caged again. Is that what you want?”

“I’ve eluded capture this long. Lady Luck favors me.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Alana—“

A sound again, down the hall: something dropped and shattered on hardwood. Alana’s eyes flew wide open again when he turned his head to the noise. “It’s nothing,” she insisted. “Just an old house!”

“You’re hiding something,” he said. “Or someone?”

“I’m not—“

“Show them to me, Alana. Is it a man? Someone you live with?”

“No,” she said. “It’s no one. Even if it was someone, do you think I’d let you—“

“Stop.” He casually removed a wicked knife from his coat pocket. “Show them to me.”

She stared at the knife, but remained silent.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll find out myself.” He rose from the chair.

“You can’t!” She leaped from her seat and threw herself at him. She tried to wrest the knife from his hand, but before she could blink he’d carved a deep gash in her side. She crumpled to the ground.

He left her there and headed for the hallway, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor.

“You can’t!” she cried again, struggling to get up again. She made it to her knees, but the pain was too great, so she fell once again.

A door at the end of the hall opened as he approached it. He stopped in his tracks at who was behind it. “Margot?”

“What have you done?” Margot demanded, darting her eyes between his face and his knife.

“She gave me no choice,” he said. “I must say, I’m more than a little bit surprised to see you here. What’s your place in this?”

Margot narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m her wife.”

“Wife?” He was genuinely taken aback. “You mean you and Alana Bloom…”

“Alana Verger,” she corrected, and slammed the door behind her.

Hannibal shook his head in amazement. “Well, this is a fascinating development. You may go to her. I’ve no intention of hurting either of you; she forced my hand.”

“Bastard,” Margot spat, and pushed her way past him into the living room.

He turned to follow her, but heard a soft rustling coming from one of the rooms. It sounded like… bedsheets. After Margot had disappeared, he opened the door ever so quietly and peered inside. He had indeed heard the sound of bedsheets. It was a child’s room, and a boy was fast asleep in a bed fashioned like a racecar. He silently pulled the door closed again and rejoined Alana and Margot in the den.

Margot was on her hands and knees attempting to apply pressure to Alana’s wound. “You bastard,” Margot growled again when she saw him. “I called the police.”

He frowned. “I would expect a Verger to be a better liar. I would’ve heard you, and you didn’t have the time to begin with.”

She grimaced and continued pressing on Alana’s side. “Do you want her to die?” she asked, blood flowing freely between her fingers.

“Of course not.”

“Then do something!”

“Do you have needle and thread?”

“Somewhere,” Margot said.

“In the kitchen,” Alana groaned. “Bottom drawer. Please… hurry…”

“I’ll stitch you up, but before I do, I have a question.”

Alana coughed blood. “A question?”

“Help her, already!” Margot urged.

“Ah ah ah. First… how old is the boy sleeping in the next room?”

Margot paled.

“He looked to be about six years old. Is that right?”

“That’s right,” Margot said quietly.

Hannibal favored her with a smug smile. “That’s what I thought. Six years old. Alana visited me six years ago. I was surprised that Chilton allowed us to do what we did, but I suppose he couldn’t deny a man his simple pleasures. Tell me, Alana, how long after that did you give birth?”

“Just get the thread. Please…”

“Time’s wasting,” he said.

Alana looked down at her side and the pool of blood on the floor in horror. “I can’t.”

Margot leveled her gaze at Hannibal. “You’re really not going to save her, are you?”

“Not yet. Quid pro quo,” he replied.

“Fine. I’ll tell you,” Margot said.

“No! You can’t!” Alana begged.

“I have to, baby,” she told her. “It was nine months, Dr. Lecter. That’s what you want to hear, isn’t it? Nine months to the day.”

Hannibal smiled. “Nine months to the day. I think I’ll get that thread now. A boy needs his mother… or mothers.”

He patted Alana's hand after he'd finished stitching her up. “There we are, Mom. Pray that the boy doesn’t turn out like his father.”

She slapped him, then cringed at the searing pain in her side.

“Careful. You don’t want to anger me. There’s no telling what meal I can make of the child. Veal cutlets, perhaps?”

Alana and Margot held on to each other, both quaking in fear for their son.

“Relax, I’m not going to eat my flesh and blood. The three of you are safe, for now. But I’ll be keeping tabs.” He turned to leave, then, over his shoulder: “Ta-ta.”


End file.
